


Bonding, Caps-style

by sirona



Category: Hockey RPF, Washington Capitals RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Open Relationships, Rookies, Team Bonding, alex is a menace, bed sharing, drunk Caps, russian machine/alcohol, team dad Nicky, team shennanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:43:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5460203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirona/pseuds/sirona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half of the white hairs on Nicky's head are Alex's fault. (The other half are Haley's, and he's sure there's a metaphor somewhere in that, but for his own sanity, he isn't looking too closely.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonding, Caps-style

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bethctg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethctg/gifts).



> Dear Bethctg, I very much hope you enjoy this! It doesn't have as much porn as I expected OR set out to write, but I don't discount a filthy coda at some point in the future, because the Caps are just _asking_ for it. You wanted Backy, and I hope my head canon of Team Dad Backy works for you, because this is honestly how I imagine him, he's SUCH a dad. :) [Diclaimer: obviously I don't know these people, this is not real, etc.]
> 
> Thanks so much to somebodyowens for reading this over and for telling me she loved it! <3

Nicky used to think Wilso and Latts were bad enough. He thought he had that shit--stuff, damn, he tries not to swear in front of Haley any longer, but damn, he really did think he had that stuff figured out and nothing rookie-related could shock him ever again.

And then in 2016 they get three Russian kids coming in, and... Nicky is not equipped to deal with that level of mayhem.

It's hilarious, watching them arrive for their first skate-and-meet-the-team session on Caps ice. They're all so damn cute, all wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. Apart from the baby Russians, the Caps managed to snag an American and a Canadian NHL rookie, and Nicky's pleased to see the five of them quickly gel into a unit, even if the North Americans are a few years younger that the Europeans. He is also pleased to see the older, veteran Caps take to the kids so well.

He is _not_ pleased to note the near-worshipful glances all five are throwing at the captain. He can't see this ending well, especially not when the kids converge on him when he goes to introduce himself and welcome them to the team, and start gushing about Ovie – how awesome he is, how they couldn't believe they got to play with him, have him as _Captain_ , seriously, what's he like in real life? Like anything could prepare them for meeting Alexander Ovechkin, Russian machine extraordinaire.

Just once, Nicky wishes his premonitions would be wrong. That the kids will take their time climbing all over their new Captain and demanding attention like a bunch of excitable puppies, but then move on to settle down within the team. Because when they don't – well, _this_ happens.

Maybe it's Nicky who has the problem. He's known Alex for nigh on a decade. What on earth possessed him to think that Alex could be serious and present a figure of respect? He shouldn't be surprised anymore, but he'd _hoped_ that Alex would abstain from practical demonstrations of what a _giant fucking dork_ he is. Half of the white hairs on Nicky's head are Alex's fault. (The other half are Haley's, and he's sure there's a metaphor somewhere in that, but for his own sanity, he isn't looking too closely.)

He supposes it'll be his job to clear out this mess, too. He really wishes that Alex didn't view team bonding night as a chance to get all the rookies drunk enough to open up and show their true colors. He wishes this because Sergey is literally underneath the den's coffee table that serves to hold a truly astounding quantity of beer cans and empty vodka glasses, as well as the tangle of video game controllers and remotes that work Alex's enormous entertainment system. Sergey's head lolls to the side when someone calls his name, with the exaggerated movements of the truly plastered. The caller is no more sober than he is. Ivan is a six-foot-four beanpole with a promising bone structure and a shy smile that Nicky liked, before it turned out Ivan also had a stomach and liver made of industrial grade steel. Nicky has never seen anyone down _this_ much alcohol so fast, Alex included, and remain standing. 

Sergey answers the slurred Russian with a series of sounds that Nicky, who does not speak Russian, is nevertheless sure are not part of any coherent language spoken anywhere. Ivan is squinting at Sergey through the glass table top, so Nicky is pretty confident in his assessment. He has no idea how he's gonna get them all to bed, but a niggling voice inside him is busy insisting he can't just leave them to sleep all that booze off on the floor. Sure, tomorrow is a rest day, but 24 hours can do little to unkink stiff backs and aching necks. …Or is it just Nicky who has gotten old enough to feel them?

Yeah. He's… not entirely sober himself, if he's honest.

That’s the moment Alex crashes through the French windows and yells something violently cheerful at top volume, which, _loud_. Nicky winces and rubs his ear. 

"Inside voice, Alex," he tries. Shockingly, Alex pays him no heed. He kicks at Sergey's leg sticking out from under the table, just hard enough to make him twitch and start crawling out. Alex turns to Nicky and gives him two thumbs up and a gap-toothed smile that nearly splits his face. Nicky wishes he wasn't so fond of the asshole. Which distracts him from Orpie creeping up on him and throwing an arm around his neck. 

"You gotta stop with the Dad act, Backy," he says, a little louder than normal in deference to the racket coming out of the speakers. "Chill out, have fun! If Ovie breaks the rookies, well, that's on him, and also, if they break that easily, they're not really gonna last long on this team."

Nicky rolls his eyes, but lets Orpie drag him outside and push him into Holts, who catches him around the waist with the ease of long practice.

"I'll get you another beer, old man," Orpie chirps and walks away, laughing while Nicky splutters. 

"You can talk, Grandpa," he calls after him. Orpie has a whole seven years on Nicky. This cannot be allowed to stand. 

"You're having a good time, then," Holts says in his ear, grinning when Nicky turns to look at him. Holts is still holding him close enough for their chests to press together, which might be a little too demonstrative, but he is warm against Nicky's front. Alex's patio heaters don't really do much for the DC cold. 

"I am," Nicky admits. 

They don't do this much, but there are a lot of away games in the year, and everyone involved knows that Holts sometimes needs taking out of his own head. Nicky has that A for a reason, even if it comes with all the Dad jokes the others (read: the younger players and the other letters) like to make. Besides. Nicky likes helping. It makes him feel all kinds of pleased when he can coax Holts out of his loss-induced gloom. He likes caring for people. Sue him.

"Good," Holts says, arm tightening a little before he pulls back, releasing Nicky just in time to be handed another beer and mauled by Orpie's enormous arms. 

"I love you, man," Orpie warbles in his ear, slamming his hand over Nicky's shoulder a bunch of times. Jesus, how much did he have to drink on his way back?!

On the other side of the pool, Alex waves and toasts him with a nearly-empty bottle of Russian vodka. 

"Oh boy," Nicky says, bracing Orpie with an arm around his waist because he's swaying like a screen door in high winds. Beside him, Holts is shaking with chuckles and being no help _at all_. 

"You're such a good, decent guy," Orpie continues to blub. Nicky wants to facepalm so badly. "Sometimes I think about you fucking the Holtbeast after a loss, and I get so jealous."

"Okay," Nicky says loudly, patting Orpie on his back. "Time for bed. Alex, you ass, we're stealing a guest room!"

"We're _all_ going to bed?" Orpie slurs, looking hopeful. This is the _worst_. Nicky hates Alex _so much_.

"Go ahead, all beds made!" Alex yells back. He's not even drunk, the bastard. 

Nicky rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts. 

"Give me a hand," he grumbles at Holts. Together, they drag Orpie inside and up the stairs, depositing him into the first empty bedroom they find. Orpie has never been one of the guys to sleep around with the team; Nicky had mostly assumed he was a solid zero on the Kinsley scale, but apparently he's just surprisingly uptight about certain things and needs Alex's evil influence to let up. 

That does not mean that Nicky will be getting in bed with him any time tonight. Orpie wants it so much, he can ask for it when he isn't on the outside of half a bottle of Stolichnaya. Besides. They can't give the rookies the impression that team orgies are something normal. That would be irresponsible. 

"Noooo," Orpie whines when Nicky and Holts move to leave. He clings like an octopus to one of Nicky's thighs, like it's his favorite teddy bear. "You guys, I'm cold. A-and I don't wanna sleep alone."

He sounds so sad and forlorn that Nicky finds his resolve melting away.

"No sex," he warns sternly. 

Orpie nods and tugs him closer. "Morning blowjobs," he says happily; before Nicky can more than open his mouth to protest, there's an air-rending snore and Orpie's grip slackens.

"My God, this team is _insane_ ," Holts says happily. 

He has no idea, and Nicky tells him so, just in time for the door to open to admit a very tipsy Kuzy and Alex. 

"Ooh, team sleeps," Kuzy giggles. He crawls into the bed and hugs Orpie through the middle. "Come, guys!" he says, one arm lazily beckoning them closer. 

"Oh my god," Nicky says faintly. Alex walks over and tackles him, wrapping his massive body all around Nicky. 

"Team sleeps is good," he rumbles. "Help bonding."

"We've bonded for years," Nicky bitches, but the thing is, the room smells familiar with the five of them in it, and Nicky can feel his eyes growing heavy. It's a big bed, now that he looks at it. He wonders what exactly Alex had in mind, buying it for one of his bedrooms. Still, "There's no way all of us will fit."

"Will," Alex insists, bodily walking him to the other side and pushing him against Orpie's back before crawling in after him. They're pressed together shoulder to toe, with one of Alex's treetrunk thighs thrown over Nicky's to keep him in the bed. It's completely ridiculous.

It's also unfairly comfortable, especially when Holts sighs and toes off his shoes, draping himself against Kuzy's back. Nicky goes from dead certain he's never gonna manage falling asleep to drifting off like a light in the space of probably two minutes.

Of course, he _knew_ it was a bad, bad, terrible idea even as he was going along with it. The pictures get put up on Wilso's Instagram and basically get shared _everywhere_. Nicky is sure the entire internet has now seen him cuddled to Orpie's back, with Alex drooling on his shoulder. The fans _love_ it. He's never gonna live it down. Good thing he's probably with the Caps for life. 

He takes a bunch of good-natured ribbing from the rookies, surprisingly outspoken now that they've gotten over their hangovers. Much as Nicky resents it, he has to give Alex credit for how quickly and easily they have settled in; he draws the line at Captain-mandated monthly sleepovers, though. There is such a thing as too much socializing. Liza sasses him enough about it as it is. 

He also gets a very sheepish Orpie slink over to him the next time the team goes out for drinks, and haltingly apologize if he stepped over any boundaries. Nicky is so not dealing with this shit on his own. He catches Holts' eye and tilts his head pointedly at Orpie. Holts takes the situation in with a single glance before looking heaven-ward. He raises bushy eyebrows back and nods.

"Next time Holts needs it, we'll call you in, okay?" Nicky says. He takes slightly evil pleasure in the flush that spreads swiftly down Orpie's face and neck. 

"I just," he starts, but _nope_ , Nicky is not having this conversation now. 

"Join us or not, it'll be your call. We'd like it if you do," he relents, seeing Orpie's guilty look.

Honestly, sometimes Nicky feels like the team's minder. 

But then he remembers the dark, hazy look in Holts' eyes as Nicky fucks into him, and imagines the overwhelmed-yet-eager reaction he can expect from Orpie when they drag him into the bed and set about helping him fully participate in the encounter, and really, he's so lucky to be here, with these guys, isn't he.


End file.
